


'til the riot's gone away

by justsomejerk



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Abuse, Accidental Near Overdose, Alcohol and drug abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hints at Bi!Isobel, Isobel and Rosa are angry angry ladies, Lots of references to Noah, Malex talk, Mentions of dissociation, Mimi Deluca (minor), No romantic Rosabel, Post-S1, Rosabel without the creepiness, Veronica Mars References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomejerk/pseuds/justsomejerk
Summary: Rosa goes to Isobel to learn about Noah from the person who knew him best and eventually they find themselves striking up an unlikely friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was hoping to get something out for Ladies of RNM Week and somehow I actually did, though it's only the first chapter of a something. It's a short one to start out. I will be posting each chapter for the next few days, so anyone who is interested won't be waiting too long.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful cadenzamuse over on Tumblr.
> 
> Title from Santigold's The Riot's Gone  
Below lyrics from Hole's Petals

** _tear the petals off of you (and make you tell the truth)_ **

Blood gushed to the surface of her palm and the pain rose with it. Isobel muttered curses and instinctively jerked her arm back from the sharp object hiding in the darkest corner of the closet where she'd been sweeping an arm to find the remainder of her dead husband's things. She rose up to her knees, intending to move to the bathroom to clean up but instead stared down at her bloody palm, momentarily transfixed. She’d had little experience with injuries in her life, and none with sickness, not in the way humans do. Unless her brief foray into a voluntary psychiatric hold counted; though she was fairly certain her experience was rather unique, considering her treatment ultimately required dipping herself in silver goo and entering stasis in her alien pod until Liz Ortecho could figure out how to save her.

Still staring blankly down at her palm dripping blood without seeing a thing, she idly recalled Noah calling their pods _eggs_ when he wandered into the house with his gun, playing up the panicked husband upon Isobel's return after six weeks in 'rehab.' Was he just amusing himself, coming up with exactly the kind of line she believed her hapless human husband would throw out in a time of panic? Random snippets of past conversations with Noah were always swimming around in her brain now, floating to the surface unbidden, her new understanding of him haunting the memories and turning them ugly. For God's sake, she was supposed to be a mind reader and she couldn't even turn off the parts of her own mind that desperately needed turning off for the sake of self-preservation. She couldn’t help softening at the flashes of him murmuring sleepy _I love you's_ in bed, his gentle eyes thawing her glacial emotional barriers with ease.

When she got stuck in those moments for too long, she could always bring forward the one memory that could briefly kill the love that still lingered: the night he snapped the necks of Jasmine and Kate, leaving their bodies to grow cold in the dirt outside the cave, while he used Isobel's body to offer Rosa overtures about the man he could be for her, becoming furious when he realized she wouldn't submit. Rosa Ortecho would not be claimed.

So he killed her.

Her palm glowed red that night, a power they believed only Max was capable of wielding.

_Max_.

His name brought Isobel back to herself, and she realized the blood from her palm was now dripping onto the hardwood floor. She closed her eyes and sighed, taking a moment to let the exhaustion sink in before slowly making her way to the bathroom. Maybe she should just sell the house. The town would figure out sooner or later that the Queen Bee of Roswell event planning no longer had her prize of a lawyer husband on her arm, and there would be talk.

Noah's body was buried out in the desert near the caves where she and her brothers began their life on earth, but he would remain a spectre in Roswell for the foreseeable future, thanks to the questions she would be answering. She knew she would have to settle on a cover story soon. Liz, even in her broken state over Max's death and Rosa's return, was being gentle and patient in her regular texts on the subject, offering to spread a story among the diners at the cafe about the Evans-Bracken separation and his sudden departure.

Isobel wanted to throttle her for the kid gloves she insisted on using. She was Isobel fucking Evans—a mere arch of an eyebrow should inspire fear in anyone. The idea of a story that, as it spread like a game of broken telephone through their small town, could easily morph Isobel into a figure of pity, into someone who didn't leave, but who was left. As the cold bitch who couldn't hold onto that sweet loving husband of hers. Yeah, she knew what some people in this town thought of her. Maria DeLuca stated it plainly—Isobel had deleted her personality for the sake of upholding this curated Pinterest page she called her life. And now here it was—in pieces after the collapse. As Isobel stuck her hand under the bathroom faucet and watched the water run blood-red, she snorted bitterly. Not much to show for herself after all. Not much beyond the fragments of her mind that Noah was kind enough to leave behind.

She let her head go blank just watching the flow, focusing on the sensation of the cold water engulfing her hand, spreading in rose-speckled rivulets across the creases of her palm and falling down the drain.

***

One night about a week after Max's death, Liz kept Rosa up the greater part of the night recounting the story of Noah Bracken and his long list of sins. She had avoided sharing the details previously, as Rosa was overwhelmed, frantic and furious with the news of her missing decade. With Max's body safe in his pod, Liz ended up bringing her to his place, as it was isolated on the edge of town and rarely received unexpected visitors. Kyle came by most days, fumbling to build the sibling relationship they hadn’t realized they had shared the first time around. She cried when Kyle told her about their father's death at the hands of Jesse Manes. She cried harder when she realized she might never be able to tell the dad who raised her that she's returned.

Maria visited often, though just how much she knew about Noah and the entire situation was unclear. Sometimes Alex Manes tagged along with Kyle. Michael stayed away, and knowing what went down the night she was murdered, Rosa was grateful to him for that foresight. Isobel also stayed away, but she wasn't sure how to feel about that conspicuous absence. Her last memory before her mind went blank with death was Isobel’s empty eyes and the red glow of her palm affixed to Rosa’s jaw, before her sight blurred into black and crimson spots that soon faded to nothing. Without any awareness of the ten years of life that passed without her, the nothingness turned seamlessly into consciousness and Rosa was laying on the rough surface of a smaller cave, bathed in the eerie iridescent glow of the pod with Max's collapsed body lying alongside her.

Often alone in that big house while Kyle and Liz were working long hours, Rosa cycled through memories from those last months of her life, reconciling and re-contextualizing the flashes.

One particular run-in with Mimi DeLuca kept coming back to her. Rosa hadn't intended to confess anything, but Mimi had spotted them together, cackling under neon lights in an alley across the street from the Wild Pony's back entrance. It was closing time and Mimi was taking out the garbage, but paused to watch them, tilting her head as though considering the scene in front of her. Rosa noticed her but continued on anyway, turning her back to Isobel and Mimi, caught up in telling the story of Federico's friends harassing her about getting high just one last time as she tagged the wall with her signature spaceship art. Even with Mimi across the street, her body just a silhouette, Isobel clearly noticed her. As Rosa chattered on about her gratitude that Isobel showed up on the Crashdown roof tonight and enticed her into a different sort of illegal activity than the one she's been avoiding since detoxing, Isobel stiffened and coldly declared, “I hate that woman.”

Rosa stopped what she was doing to glance over her shoulder to take in Isobel's glowering expression and to see who she was talking about.

“Mimi? Really? She might be one of the last truly good people in this town. She's one of the only people who actually believed I could get clean. And she practically raised Alex Manes. Anytime she could get him out of his asshole father's clutches, anyway.”

Isobel didn't respond, just continued to glance back in Mimi's direction. A brief few minutes later, she made an excuse and fled, throwing a hostile glance in Mimi's direction before speeding off down the street. Rosa wasn't sure what happened, but she was growing accustomed to her new friend's strangely intense mood swings and figured she'd show up on the roof of the Crashdown some night soon with an explanation and a new obscure fact about the stars. Once she was out of sight, Mimi crossed the street to stand by Rosa's side as she finished her work.

“That girl is rotten on the inside.”

Rosa laughed as she gave her spray can a shake. “You know you don't have to play up the psychic theatrics with me, Mama DeLuca. I've seen you at work with paying customers before plenty.” Mimi didn't respond to Rosa's joking tone, simply fixed the young woman with her caring gaze as Rosa continued: “I know everyone just thinks of Isobel as the ultimate mean girl, but there's more to her than that—”

Mimi placed a consoling hand on Rosa's arm, stilling her movements. “No, Rosa. Her aura. Isobel Evans' aura is purple. But tonight it's gold. That girl—there's something broken in her.”

Rosa loved Mimi, and sometimes she could spend hours just listening to her talk about psychic abilities and the world beyond this one, but she didn't have the patience for it tonight. Still unconvinced, Rosa shook her head and declared,“She's not broken, Mimi. She's like me. This town is suffocating her just like it did me.”

“That girl is nothing like you, honey. She's not what you think.” At this, Mimi placed both hands firmly on Rosa's forearms, turning to face her with a smile on her face, concern lining her forehead. “Please just be careful. You have a beautiful destiny, Rosa. I see it every time I spot one of your tiny roses drawn in some neglected corner of this town. I don't want to see that taken away.”

Rosa tilted her head, looking up at Mimi's face thoughtfully. “Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. Plus, there's someone who will help me if I need it. A friend.”

Mimi gave her a half-smile, and Rosa saw a spark of recognition in her eyes. As if she somehow already knew about Jim Valenti and his offer to fund Rosa's rehab in Las Alamos. Rosa had never been sure how to feel about the legend of the DeLuca women being psychics, but she knew there had been far too many moments when Mimi has known just a little too much about the uncontrolled wildfire loose inside Rosa's head.

It took Rosa a few more weeks for her to return to Mimi and confess the secrets Isobel had been divulging lately. She knew there was something off about her, but that was part of the allure at first. When they were alone, the high school mean girl had a dangerous intensity about her that Rosa hadn't previously found in this backwards town. A ferocity and determination that might match her own. But Rosa was sensing something else now. She'd been growing increasingly wary of Isobel's erratic behaviour since prom. On their latest meet-up, Isobel spoke of being from the stars. At first, Rosa assumed she was talking metaphorically. Then she mentioned studying Ophiuchus from her passing ship decades earlier and Isobel reached out to grip Rosa's chin, roughly turning her head so she could fix Rosa with a steady stare. In that moment, Rosa finally saw what Mimi had warned her about—the look on the icy blonde's face was the unmistakable expression of a hunter who finally had their chosen prey in the crosshairs.

Remembering these moments now, laying in Max's guest bedroom with the full knowledge that Noah was possessing Isobel's body just to satisfy his obsession, Rosa wished she'd gone to Mimi before heading to the turquoise mines alone that night. Or even to her father. Someone who could have kept her from making another one of her reckless decisions. Rosa now knew the girl she had known as her friend was never Isobel Evans, but an alien who spent decades alone, trapped in a broken pod that kept him a solitary observer to this strange world. That killing Rosa is what restored enough of his strength that he pulled himself out of that pod, setting in motion the events leading to so much trauma, death, and finally, her own rebirth.

***

Rosa Ortecho was the last person Isobel expected to be ringing her doorbell at 9 am on a Wednesday morning. But here she was, dressed in red, a wild and inscrutable expression on her face. They were both silent for a moment. Rosa stole a glance down at the hand still clutching the doorknob and the pale pink manicure that high school-era Isobel would have never allowed to remain in such a chipped state. She silently noted the white gauze wrapped around the other woman's palm.

“You killed me.”

Isobel visibly bristled at the words, her eyes widening. She instinctively wanted to slam the door, or maybe throw something at this girl to send her running. A flash of hot anger washed over her, rendering her certain of her right to punish anyone who tried to rip away her composure, her stability, all she has left after these past few weeks carried the remaining pieces of her life away on a receding tidal wave. But within seconds the anger ebbed away as well, and Isobel was left standing in front of the formerly dead Ortecho girl, knuckles white and stretched taut as she stiffly blocked the doorway.

Rosa took in Isobel's reaction and haltingly added, “You were the weapon. He used you to do it. I just— Liz has been explaining it, but.. you knew him. He chose you. Like he chose me.” At these words, Isobel jerked back, alarmed at the connection. She hadn't thought about it that way. She'd been doing her best not to think about Rosa at all. “Tell me about him.”

Isobel pursed her lips and declared tartly, “I'm in the middle of something.”

Rosa's dark eyes showed a flash of something at that statement. “You may not have killed me, but what you and your brothers did to my family...” Rosa cut herself off. It sounded as though she'd been working up to a furious speech, but she couldn't sustain it. She'd only been alive again for two weeks, and already it was as though the spark that kept her wild as a livewire in her previous life was burning out for lack of oxygen. “I just need to speak to someone who knew him. Someone who won't avoid his name.”

Seemingly unmoved by Rosa's declaration, Isobel tightened her grip on the doorknob and stonily declared, “There's nothing I can tell you that will change the fact that my dead murderer of a husband had some creepy obsession with you, killed you, and stuck your body in a pod like a prize for a decade straight. All of those things will still be true regardless of how well he feigned being a human _fucking_ being.” Isobel's icy veneer cracked slightly on these last words, and she spit them out like bile.

Rosa stuck her chin out stubbornly. “I know what I want. And I know you're an entitled bitch who doesn't do anything for anyone, but you owe my family after a decade of this town's hate crimes and xenophobia. So you're going to tell me about him.”

A look of irritation crossed Isobel's face. It was soon overtaken by resignation, and she lifted a hand off the doorframe and silently allowed Rosa entrance.

Once Isobel closed the door behind them, the tension of their confrontation hung in the air as they stood in silence, sizing one another up. After a few moments of a silent face-off, Isobel pointedly turned on her heel and stalked into her kitchen. She poured two mugs of coffee and left Rosa to make do with the sugar and almond milk left on the counter before she climbed the stairs, presumably expecting Rosa to follow in time. She did, but paused at the foot of the stairs to spare a glance around the living room while she was alone. She noticed the mantel was conspicuously bare and took a few steps for a closer look, curiosity about the inner life of Noah and Isobel overtaking her. Beyond the couch, scattered along the floor around the couch and coffee table, were piles of shattered glass punctuated with the jagged pieces of ripped-up photos—at least a dozen of them, all featuring the same smiling faces of a devastatingly photogenic couple.

A few minutes later, they were in the master bedroom, Rosa uneasily sitting on the low bench at the end of the bed and Isobel committing her full attention to clearing out the enormous closet she'd shared with Noah. She hadn't acknowledged Rosa since she opened the door for her ten minutes before, and Rosa was now losing her conviction in the reason she had come over here at all. To stem her own doubts about her purpose here, she took a look around to continue clocking Isobel's living space for evidence of the kind of life Isobel had lived with Noah. The bed was stripped of sheets and Rosa noted it didn't looked as though it had been used recently. A few pieces of art were on the floor propped against the wall, while several half-packed cardboard boxes were piled underneath a reading nook overlooking the backyard. She was creating organized piles of clothing on the bed itself, walking around Rosa without so much as glancing her way with hangers of clothing that unmistakably belonged to Noah.

Clearly Isobel was trying to cope with the sudden life transition she was thrown into, but she was handling it in a much more haphazard manner than Rosa would have expected from a perfectionist like her.

Liz spoke of the psychic connection the aliens shared—that when Max was reviving her, Isobel heard him cry out inside the recesses of her mind, felt the effort he was pouring into his task, when, out of nowhere, the connection shut down. It was like the part of her brain reserved for her brother simply disconnected from whatever psychic circuitry it was using. Of course, Isobel didn't share this information with Liz herself. In the immediate aftermath of that long night and morning, everyone ended up at Max's place with Liz nearly catatonic, Rosa bewildered, Isobel deadly furious, and Michael broken and numb. While the alien siblings believed she had finally cried herself to sleep on the couch, Liz had listened to them talk about the echoing void inside their minds where Max had resided only hours before. Rosa tried to imagine the chaos and emptiness inside Isobel's head right now. It startled her to realize they might have something more in common than Noah.

Rosa has never been good at staying quiet. Even when she didn't want it, she spent a lifetime commanding attention. From being the daughter who was consistently too much for a mother so uncertain of her own maternal instincts, to being the older sister who just couldn't stop being a disappointment for the baby sister who wanted so badly to idolize her, to getting clean and drawing the sometimes violent ire of her former customers and druggie friends. Isobel clearly wasn't quite prepared to discuss the things Rosa came over to hear, and she figured filling the silence with mindless chatter might loosen Isobel's stubborn resolve to pretend she hadn't allowed Rosa into her house in the first place. Unable to stand the silence any longer, Rosa started talking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa goes to Isobel to learn about Noah from the person who knew him best and eventually they find themselves striking up an unlikely friendship.
> 
> But first, they need to scream. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isobel and Rosa really get into it here. It gets rough.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful cadenzamuse over on Tumblr.
> 
> I'm acomebackstory on Tumblr. Feel free to come say hello!
> 
> Title from Santigold's The Riot's Gone  
Below lyrics from Hole's Doll Parts

** _he only loves those things because he loves to see them break_ **

Isobel was now realizing that sticking Rosa in an abandoned house full of Max's overflowing bookshelves with orders to keep from being seen around town was a mistake. A recovering addict without purpose or control needed something to do with her brain and hands. It seemed she had turned to reading to pass the time, despite previously lacking the attention span for anything but art, music, and drugs.

As if she could annoy Isobel into speaking all the things she was waiting to hear if she just spoke long enough, Rosa continued reading quotes aloud from the book in her hand: “_ There is another way in which he is an admirable person. If he notices something is broken, he will try to fix it. He won't just think about how unbearable it is that things keep breaking, that you can never fucking outrun entropy _ ...”

“...entropy.” Isobel murmured it quietly to herself, unnoticed by Rosa and distracted by a memory of Noah yet again. He had used that word. What was it he'd said? _ Destruction is chaos, is entropy, is energy, is power, is victory. _

He had truly believed it, that killing was the key to fortifying their power, to persevering and surviving on this foreign planet. He couldn't lie, not in Isobel's mindscape.

But that doesn't make it true. _ Entropy, chaos, power. _She rolled the words around in her mind as she continued emptying out his half of the closet, pressed button-downs and cardigans and the ties she spent so much time picking out as gifts for birthdays and holidays and random Tuesdays. As Rosa continued explaining the plot of a book Isobel didn't care about, she continued methodically adding to the clothing piles on the bed.

She knew the moment she met Noah—_ this is the one human I can trust. I can be known now. _ And she was, long before they met face to face. Noah knew her mind intimately, in a way Isobel couldn't even claim to. She had spent her entire life learning how to mimic humanity, while Noah was burrowing inside her psyche, making space for himself. Nurturing a connection, an affection, a love. She had believed her relationship with Noah was the one thing she didn't have to mimic. In the beginning, she had tried to play a part. She was uncertain with him in an unfamiliar way, grasping for control. But that fell away quickly. He became exactly what she needed—something she didn't need to control. A place she could go when she needed to stop hiding.

Unless you're considering the alien thing. That's how Isobel had always thought of it - _ the alien thing _. Disconnected from who she believed herself to be. She was the daughter of a middle-class banker father and party-planning mother and sister to a hopelessly softhearted brother. She would eventually follow in her mother's footsteps in commanding her town's planning committees and boards, securing her place as ruler of the town’s social scene. Even back in junior high, when Michael would climb into her bedroom window at night with a sleeping bag, a few bottles of nail polish remover and a head full of speculation about their home planet and ship, Isobel only felt ambivalence.

No, that's not entirely correct. She also felt fear. As grateful as she was to her adoptive parents, Max and Michael were the only people on this planet _ like _ her. Their fates were tied together, and nothing inspired bone-deep terror in Isobel more so than the thought of being left alone. Isobel had been defining herself as one of three since she was capable of defining herself at all, and there had never been a time in her life when she considered who she was without them alongside her, acting as her tether to this world. The three of them were to stay safe no matter the cost, even if that cost was autonomy, a sense of self, belonging. But those things were overrated anyway. Weren’t they? This was the thought that provoked Isobel to stop on her return to the closet and finally look Rosa straight in the eye for the first time since their confrontation at her front door.

Rosa was momentarily startled and quieted. Recognizing a moment to ease into her questions, she asked, “So, are you planning to donate all this?”

Isobel sighed and crossed her arms, pausing before answering. “I don't know. I just need to do... something. I can't have all these reminders here right now.”

“Yeah, I understand. Sometimes Liz brings by my things she'd saved, but even though that life was only a few weeks ago for me, they just don't feel like mine anymore. All of that is over. I almost want to set it all on fire, and burn all the memories away so I can have a new start.” Rosa's brown eyes were bright as she spoke, illuminated by the sun's rays that were streaming in through the blinds and crawling across the floor.

“Well, there's an idea.” Isobel smirked, glancing up and out the window into her backyard, arms still folded across her chest. She went silent for a long time before turning her head back to glance down at Rosa and hesitantly declaring, “I wish I could burn so much of this away.” She took a few steps towards Rosa, then changed her mind and turned, putting some distance by sitting down near the head of the bed.

“How much of it do you remember?” Rosa turned her body to face Isobel, curling her legs beneath her on the bench but maintaining the distance Isobel set.

Isobel was sitting up straight, eyes on her hands, her legs crossed at the ankles in the spitting image of Ann Evans on the few occasions she deigned to eat at the Crashdown and Rosa had the displeasure of serving her. “Everything, I think. The antidote seemed to give me all the memories back.”

They let that knowledge hang in the air for a tense few moments, settling in to the uncomfortable reality of what was now a shared, complicated history.

Isobel sighed heavily, her eyes closed as she added, “I can't tell you _ why _ he did any of it though, not really. The memories don't come with explanations. I don't know why he targeted you.” She was rolling the words _ exquisite life force _ around in her mind, but she figured that was the sort of insight into Noah's rationalizations Rosa could do without. Isobel knew she could. “He didn't really care about anyone. Especially not humans. He only bothered to get close to me because he planned to use me and my brothers as bargaining chips. Apparently he thought we would go back to our planet eventually and we would be valuable to him. But he never loved me or even cared about me.”

Rosa frowned. “He did, though. Care about you. Liz could tell, when she could feel him through the handprint. He was twisted and broken, but you were special to him.”

“So were you. And he still killed you because you didn't want him.”

“I didn't mean he was a good person or he should be forgiven.” Rosa sighed. She gave her head a shake, jumped to her feet and started pacing the room, restlessness coming off her in waves, as she continued. “Coming back to life is really messing with my mind. I think I'm going soft or something.” She was having trouble finding the words, trying to spit out the frustration she was clearly feeling with herself. A bit of steel returned to her voice as she continued, “You know if he wasn't dead already, I would do it myself. What about you? Did _ you _ want him dead? Are you happy about what Max did?”

Isobel had been cautiously watching Rosa pace throughout the room and around the bed, as her energy became increasingly agitated. Remaining in constant motion, Rosa gave her an expectant look and she felt ricocheting emotions moving through her, unable to pin down precisely how she felt about the question. Yet she bristled under the clear assumption that they _ must _ share the same feelings about their situation, and she recognized defiance rising from the swirling pit of emotions inside her to stand alone and finally responded: “Happy has nothing to do with it. Yes, I wanted him dead. I also _ didn't _ want him dead. He wasn't just someone I went stargazing with because I had no friends left after kicking my drug habit. He was my _ husband _. Don't pretend to understand what I'm going through. We're not the same.”

Rosa's eyes narrowed. “You don't get to talk to me like that. You and Max and Michael... you covered up my murder for _ ten years _ . Everyone thinks I'm responsible! And my dad paid for it. Half the people in this town will find any excuse to send him into the hands of _ la migra _. Because we don't belong here, not in the way the Evans family does. But you really don't care, do you? As long as it keeps suspicious eyes off you and your perfect life, it doesn't matter.” Rosa had stopped pacing somewhere in the middle of her speech, prompting Isobel to get to her feet and straighten her posture, bracing for a fight.

“Do you even understand what would happen to us if those ‘suspicious eyes’ were to land on us? Did Liz happen to mention Caulfield to you? There were other survivors, and they've been locked up for decades. Experimented on. We're just specimens to them. I will _ never _ let that happen to Michael or Max!” Speaking Max's name aloud put a halt to Isobel's angry momentum, bringing back the knowledge that she didn’t have to keep Max safe anymore. No one did.

She took a few deep breaths as she and Rosa exchanged glares, pacing around one another like a pair of cage fighters seeking the advantage. “And you know what, I _ do _ care! I tried to get rid of my powers when I found out what I did to you. I didn't even remember until a few months ago!”

“Oh please. You didn't remember or you just chose not to?”

“I didn't remember, Rosa. Leave it alone.” The last three words were spoken with a deadly animosity and a sharp look directed straight at her and for a moment Rosa was sure she was seeing him again, a shadow lurking just behind Isobel's hazel-eyed gaze.

Rosa felt herself wither underneath it, growing smaller and smaller and she was suddenly re-living that night, feeling the dread and the dawning realization that those eyes were the last she would ever see. She knew what was coming just from his tone, the words, the way he moved his body towards and around her. _ Her _ body, Rosa quickly corrected herself. Isobel's body. Suddenly her heart was beating in her ears, as if her skin could no longer contain the sheer adrenaline as it desperately sought an escape route. “This was a mistake. I need to get out of here.” Rosa turned and headed towards the door.

Isobel spent a moment just glaring in her wake, before she followed, calling after her, “Good! I don't know why you even came here in the first place. As if we're going to be besties just because we were traumatized by the same asshole? Because we both bought into his shit? Well of course, _ you _ didn't! Not for long. Did you, Rosa?” Rosa was at the bottom of the staircase now, and at that goading line, she finally turned around and was about to offer a furious retort when she saw the look on Isobel's face as she stood frozen halfway up the stairs. Something had finally cracked and her face was pure bitter self-hatred and hints of hysteria as her purposefully razor-sharp tone devolved into something utterly uncontrolled. “You listened to your gut like a person is supposed to. You were shutting him out and leaving town because you actually knew what was good for you. You weren't stupid enough to trust him and love him and _ fucking marry him! _”

Rosa could see that she'd started crying despite turning her face away, clearly now conscious of what she'd just said and trying her best to walk back her moment of weakness. Suddenly, she visibly flinched and brought her bandaged hand up from the banister she'd been clutching tightly, turning it to stare down at her palm. Rosa saw the flash of red soaking the gauze and took a few tentative steps back up the stairs. Isobel muttered, “Just go,” and headed back upstairs without a backwards glance. Rosa sighed, knowing she has been given an out and probably should just leave.

Yet she found herself leaning her hips into the bathroom counter, warily watching Isobel unwrap her hand over the sink. She winced as she reached to open a cabinet with the damaged hand, and Rosa rolled her eyes. She gently shoved Isobel aside with her hip, and shuffled around in the cabinet for the right supplies. When Isobel tried to protest, she lightly interrupted without malice, “Just shut up, okay?” They were both quiet for the minutes it took to clean the reopened wound and snugly wrap fresh gauze around it. Once she finished up and knelt down to return the leftover gauze and ointment to the cabinet, Isobel audibly took a deep breath and broke the silence.

“I'm not sure it matters if I was just repressing the memories, choosing not to remember because I didn't want to. It ended the same regardless. You were still dead, and we were responsible for no one ever getting justice for it. And I'm not going to offer an apology, because we still can't come forward to anyone with any version of the truth. Not now that we know what really happened to the other aliens. It's just not possible.”

Rosa sighed. She was doing that a lot today. She didn't really know what she was expecting when she made the decision to confront Isobel Evans, but it wasn't this tired sense of resignation. It wasn't accepting this messy lack of closure that would leave her feeling emptied out of all the righteous anger she's carried for years, unable to even nurture a hatred for this woman whose hand snuffed out her life.

She blew out a breath and, averting her eyes, simply responded, “I know.”

***

Two days later, Rosa found herself at Isobel's door again. Isobel answered in a huff, looking remarkably disheveled with sweat beading across her forehead and strands of hair falling loose from an uncharacteristically messy bun.

“I'm really not in the mood for a heart-to-heart about my dead husband fucking us both over, Ortecho.”

“I don't want you anywhere near my heart, Evans. I just want to hide from Liz and Kyle. They always want to _ talk _ these days.” Rosa was fidgeting as she spoke, unable to hold still. Ill at ease, she was looking down at her feet as she kicked a pebble. “I just want some quiet.”

Isobel frowned slightly, arched an eyebrow and moved from the doorframe, giving Rosa space to enter before closing the door with her still-bandaged hand.

It was the living room Isobel was conquering today. The couch that had been there on her first visit was gone, and so was the photographic evidence of her marriage that had previously littered the floor. The coffee table was on its side and shoved against the wall just inside the front door. Several wall hangings remained up, along with a table to the right of the front door for keys and neatly organized mail piles. Other than these sparse decorations, the room was emptied out.

Scattered around the room in different spots on the floor were paint and material swatches lined up for inspection, along with stacks of furniture and design catalogues. Making up her mind to skip past whatever awkwardness might be lingering from her last visit, Rosa marched towards one set, picking up a teal and turquoise palette and, holding her arms out in front of her, spread the cards out to contrast against the warm yellow of the walls. “Are you thinking a single colour for the entire room?”

And with that, they had a project to focus on. They spent the morning poring over possible curtains, blinds and colour combinations. They remained wary of one another, choosing their words carefully and never straying from the topic at hand. Though Rosa did draw a line at the colour-coordinated sticky flags Isobel handed over for marking her preferences in the magazines and catalogues, which she could not help but mock endlessly. _ Leave it to this girl to bring her uptight Type A compulsions into a project that is clearly meant to be cathartic, _ Rosa silently mused. Finally having broken the ice, they both loosened up enough to take turns rolling their eyes at one another and sarcastically taking down the others' suggestions. Isobel constantly doubted Rosa's eye for colours and always reigning in her vibrant suggestions in favour of more polished alternatives. Rosa mocked Isobel's stiff, middle-class taste and pushed her to choose something the old icy Isobel Evans-Bracken would have never considered.

“Come on, Evans. Redecorating the entire house? Why bother doing this if you're just going to stick with your same patterns, make the same old boring choices you've made your entire life?”

The two women were sitting side-by-side on the floor, against the south wall of the living room leading to the backyard. Isobel had her legs stretched straight out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, scrolling through Instagram interior design tags on her phone, intermittently pausing and holding her phone out for Rosa's inspection. Rosa was cross-legged, flipping through magazines and marking pages. She held her body angled away from the wall and hunched over the pages, sitting at enough of a distance from the other woman that no contact could be made accidentally.

“So what, I should give leather, graffiti, and smudged eyeliner a try?”

Rosa gave an exaggerated eye roll in response to Isobel's lightly disdainful tone. “Don't lie to yourself—you could never pull off my style, Evans. You don't have it in you. I just think now you have the opportunity to be fully in control, to know you are the only one making the decisions about your life. Don't you want to try something that a mini Ann Evans _ wouldn't _ do, just to see what it feels like?”

Isobel stiffened as Rosa spoke, lowering her phone slightly to her side. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about what it meant to know she was alone with her own mind for the first time since she was fourteen. About questioning every decision she had ever made, her own preferences, down to her favourite colours, her career choice... her desires. She felt herself clutching her phone tighter and squeezing her eyes shut to stop the stream of thoughts that might flood in if she were to think about her sex life with Noah. Remaking the place that was her home, she could handle. Untangling sex, power, and control would have to wait. _ Possibly forever, _she mused roughly to herself before turning her attention back to Rosa. “I won't do red. But I'd consider a coral. Maybe a peach if you're persuasive enough.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa finds herself taking care of Isobel on an especially rough day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, there is a lot of substance abuse in this chapter.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful cadenzamuse over on Tumblr.
> 
> I'm acomebackstory on Tumblr. Feel free to come say hello!
> 
> Title from Santigold's The Riot's Gone  
Lyrics below from Garbage's Stupid Girl

** _stupid girl, all you had you wasted_ **

“You know, sometimes when I look at you, I only feel what he felt.” Isobel tossed off the comment almost nonchalantly, eyes closed to the hazy mid-morning sky as she leaned back in her chaise lounge. As if the statement weren't a punch to Rosa's gut.

It was Rosa's third unannounced visit and she hadn’t planned on bringing up the dead horse in the room—Noah's infatuation with her—ever again.

They were sitting in the backyard, Isobel finishing her third glass of the sangria she'd inexplicably been making at 10:30 am, while Rosa slowly sipped cranberry juice she'd found while rooting around in the fridge for a non-alcoholic option. Rosa had been fingering a pack of cigarettes on the side table between their chairs, quieter than she usually was during these visits. When Isobel had turned her unfocused eyes and noticed Rosa's jerky nervous movements, she had stood quickly, an almost imperceptible sway to her movements as she moved to grab a small turquoise ashtray from the shelving along the low adobe wall enclosing the airy backyard and returned to bring it down on the side table, swiping Rosa's fingers unintentionally. Rosa had noted before that Isobel usually carried herself with a prim self-consciousness, as if she were under surveillance and intended to impress her audience. Yet today her movements were languid and loose, no thanks to the wine and what Rosa assumed must be several bottles of nail polish remover the alien surely had added to her sangria recipe. When she had returned to Rosa's side, she draped her body over the low stuffed chair, her eyes closed and head tilting back.

Rosa had lit her cigarette and a halfway-comfortable silence settled over the backyard. A soft breeze was rustling the tree overhanging the yard, and the hum of traffic was barely discernible.

And then Isobel ruined it by mentioning him.

It was the answer to a question Rosa had almost asked that first afternoon the previous week. She had nearly screamed it back at Isobel up those stairs, while she was storming out, intent on leaving a trail of emotional wreckage in her wake just like she had all her life. She had been rolling that rose-coloured notion of a new lease on life around in her head, imagining all the ways she could change to be better this time around. More patient, less erratic. A better sister, daughter, friend.

But an hour with Isobel Evans was all it took to leave Rosa trembling at the centre of a hurricane, that determined resolve scattered in pieces whirling around her, as she found herself yearning for a hit of something.

This moment of quiet devastation was somehow worse than that. For some reason, Rosa believed she and Isobel were becoming something akin to friends. Or maybe just partners of some kind. They were a mismatched pair, and the circumstances bringing them together were unimaginable to anyone outside their circle of friends and frenemies, but Rosa had felt at ease in her presence since their first blow-up. Isobel's house was now marked in her mind as a sanctuary from expectation. No pressure to be strong for Liz as she mourned Max, and no need to satisfy Kyle's almost urgent eagerness to play family without even a foundation from which to build.

But whatever camaraderie had been shaping up between them was still tainted by Noah. He was clearly haunting every interaction, at least on Isobel’s side. If she couldn’t see Rosa without being overwhelmed by those associations, how would anyone in this town accept Rosa Ortecho's lookalike as an innocent family cousin from Arizona instead of the junkie who killed two of their precious girls? Liz and Kyle kept offering potential scenarios for Rosa's new identity, but she had been putting off committing to a story. She was secretly toying with the idea of blowing town once her new identity was established and finally fulfilling her art school dreams. Maybe heading to the east coast, where no one had ever heard this particular cautionary tale of the girl who came to a fiery end as a casualty of small-town boredom and melancholy. She knew she would never convince Liz to come with her, not with the way she had started rambling the past few days about resurrection and the unfulfilled potential of Michael and Isobel's powers. But maybe that's okay. If Liz somehow felt like Roswell had become home since she'd returned, Rosa was happy for her. But Rosa had always been planning on leaving this town behind, and she couldn’t see a reason to change her mind now.

Rosa came out of her thoughts to realize Isobel had gone silent. Rosa glanced over to see Isobel's hand hanging limp over the armrest of her chair, the wine glass having fallen to the ground, the noise of impact muffled by the grass. With a jolt, Rosa saw flashes of Liz and her father screaming at her, crying, dragging her barely-conscious body to their bathroom to shove her into a cold shower. All the times she had stumbled home still high to endure their naked disappointment. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she softly shifted onto her knees to confirm Isobel's breathing was steady before dashing inside and up the stairs to the bathroom.

Rosa could picture how perfect this room had probably looked a month ago, but there was a sheen of neglect to it now – a pile of damp towels on the floor, a glob of dried toothpaste on the edge of the sink and a reddish mark streaking across the bowl that Rosa recalled was from Isobel's sloppy attempts at caring for her wound the other day.

It didn't take much time searching before she found the benzos thrown in the bottom drawer behind an assortment of scented soaps. There was quite a collection, with prescriptions in Noah's name and surprisingly, both Ann and Philip Evans' names as well. She knew Liz had conducted a few experiments on Max to gather data about their physiology, but no one had mentioned the potential effects of mixing wine, acetone and a cocktail of tranquilizers. As Rosa turned to hurry back downstairs, she pulled out her phone. She considered calling Liz or Kyle, but she still hadn't told them about her visits to Isobel and, though she was a bit concerned about Isobel's state, it didn't appear to be life-threatening. She pressed Michael's name instead and let it ring longer than necessary, no voicemail picking up.

_ I suppose it's my turn to play this role, _ she conceded to herself as she strode towards Isobel, who was still unconscious, and stuck her arms around Isobel’s upper back to awkwardly lift the woman and drag her into the house. Rosa hadn't factored Isobel’s statuesque height into the process, and she soon stumbled, toppling them both over onto the ground. Isobel began murmuring unintelligibly, shakily returning to consciousness as Rosa grabbed her again and got them through the living room doors. Realizing she would never make it up the stairs, she turned them towards the kitchen as Isobel fully woke up and discovered how clumsily she was being pulled, half along the floor and half in Rosa's arms, and decided she wasn't having it. She began attempting to gain her footing and pull her arms out of the shorter woman's grasp. They had somehow made it past the kitchen's threshold when her pissed-off struggling became too much, and Rosa dropped her hold, Isobel slumping forward onto her hands and knees. Rosa quickly reached for a trash can from under the sink, dragging it onto the amber-coloured tile floor, then took a deep breath and stuck two of her own fingers down the blonde's throat, triggering Isobel’s gag reflex and quickly jerking her hand back as Isobel began retching the contents of her stomach into the trash can. Rosa made sure to lean her whole body back, knowing any sort of contact would just make Isobel even more defensive and angry once this was over.

After a few minutes Isobel was left panting, slowly moving to lean her back against the kitchen island while weakly keeping an arm connected to the trash can at her side. Rosa shifted to sit opposite her, straightening her legs alongside Isobel's and stretching to touch the island with her toes. Seeing Isobel so unguarded and sickly pale, she felt a devious smile cross her lips against her own will and commented, “This is the worst you've ever looked, Evans.”

“Fuck you.” Isobel croaked it out lightly with a ghost of a smile, leaning her head back against the closed drawers with closed eyes.

Rosa chuckled, feeling lighter than she probably ever had in Isobel's presence, even considering the possible overdose she'd just averted. “I tried to call Michael but he didn't pick up.”

“That's probably for the best. I'd rather he not know I've been taking a page from his book.” At Rosa's single raised eyebrow, Isobel continued slowly, “Michael has been splitting his time between drinking at the junkyard, drinking at Max's pod, and drinking in his lab. He barely talks to me. Apparently he barely even talks to DeLuca or his ex either. I don't know what to do for him right now, and he certainly doesn't know what to do for me.”

“Sorry. I know what it's like when you feel you can't go to your family when you need them. It's an unreal kind of loneliness.”

“Yeah. Well, it's partly my own fault. He's been a mess for so long, and I barely even acknowledged it. I never asked how he was. I never tried to pull him out of it, I just accepted this is the path he chose to take, and let him fall apart. The day Max died, he told me about this ex of his that he loves. The way he talked about them... I never knew. I knew they existed, but I didn't ask for the details. Maybe Michael could have been happy all this time, if I'd just given him a push in the right direction. Just like Max could have been if I hadn't messed with Liz's mind back then. And now Max is gone, and Michael is barely here, and I need them. But I don't deserve them.”

“You think I deserve Liz right now, and everything she's doing for me? Or Kyle? After the hell I put my family through for years? What we deserve is beside the point, Evans. No one gets what they deserve, good or bad, not really.”

“You really think that?”

“People disappoint each other all the time. I used to think maybe that meant nobody should bother even trying to trust. That all we need is armour. But I guess things have changed. The way Liz talks about Max, how hard Kyle is trying to be my—uh, friend. The way Maria doesn't ask questions she seems to just  _ know _ none of us can answer right now, but she keeps coming around anyway. Alex Manes bought me a guitar, and we'd barely spoken in years before I died. Yeah, people are awful to each other. But if you find those few who want to be there for you, maybe you shouldn't just throw it away. Even if you  _ have _ fucked up.”

For the first time during this conversation, Isobel peeked a single eye half-open to give Rosa a once-over. “Has anyone ever told you you're a marshmallow, Ortecho?”

Rosa rolled her eyes at the reference and playfully poked Isobel's thigh with her foot. “I watched Veronica Mars too, and I'm pretty sure Liz would be the Veronica in this analogy. Clearly I would be Lily, the dead best friend.”

Isobel snorted gently, “Well, you are pretty mouthy. Not to mention a literal zombie.”

An easy silence settled over the kitchen. Eventually Rosa grabbed water for both of them to sip as the afternoon dragged on, and they slowly made their return to the backyard. With Isobel's colour returning to her face, she curled up on her side on one of the chairs while Rosa grabbed the wine glass still laying on the ground, along with the leftover sangria to dump down the sink.

Rosa hated thinking about all the half-remembered times her former friends or shitty ex-boyfriends dragged her home, or at least dropped her inside the front door of the Crashdown, when she was too out of her mind to function. That kind of vulnerability was a liability, one that she had realized, once having detoxed, she could only entrust to Liz, Arturo, and Jim Valenti. Maybe a few more people were on that list now, but hopefully she would never need to find out.

She returned to the backyard with salad that she shoved in Isobel's weary face, and plopped down on the chair across from her. After a few minutes of eating in silence, she broke it by declaring, “Jim Valenti was my dad.”

Rosa could see from Isobel's profile that her eyes went wide as she froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. Rosa would have laughed at the visual if it hadn't been the first time she'd ever spoken those words aloud to anyone. Liz and Kyle had already known so she’d been spared that confession. “He told me about 6 months before I died. He's the one who got me clean, and he was going to pay for my rehab. I was his dirty little secret, from back when he was drinking too much. He never told Kyle or his wife, and he said he wasn't going to.”

Isobel had recovered from her initial shock and seemed to be struggling to find a facial expression that was appropriately somber and sympathetic while covering up just how excited she was to hear such a thrilling piece of small-town gossip. When Rosa paused, Isobel couldn't help but blurt out, “So, your brother and sister were banging back in high school then?”

For a second, Rosa felt a flare of anger. She was taking a chance, telling Isobel a secret about her life. Telling her the secret that sent her on such a spiral that, in her initial fury, she blackmailed her mother into leaving town and subsequently befriended a creepy alien wearing Isobel's face. But the anger passed in a flash, and she found herself laughing, grateful for the levity. “Is that really the part you're focusing on?”

Isobel grinned. “I mean, is there a better part  _ to _ focus on? Your siblings were high school sweethearts. My God, they went to prom together!”

“Oh God, I just remembered! I had to hear about their  _ sex life _ !” Isobel's face scrunched up in horror at that piece of information before cracking up again. Now they were both laughing uncontrollably, their borderline hysteria easing the tension and overwrought intimacy of the morning.

Eventually, when calm settled over them again, Isobel stole a look over at Rosa before she began speaking. “You know, I didn't date back in high school. I barely even thought about it. My life revolved around my brothers and keeping a lid on our secret. That was my focus. And unlike them, I was good at it. I guess I felt a kind of pride for never almost spilling the way they did. It seemed so weak of Max to almost tell Liz back then.” Isobel smiled faintly to herself, the soft edges of regret playing along her face. “Michael almost told someone too, a few years later. He thought he could convince them not to leave town if he could just be honest for once. I had to talk him down, and make sure Max never found out. Anyway, I tried dating a bit here and there after high school, but no one seemed worth the risk. Until Noah showed up a couple years later, and it was just.. decided. It just felt so natural, like I'd been waiting just for him. He was the only one.”

Rosa blinked. “The only one? As in..?” The innuendo hung in the air from her single raised eyebrow.

“Don't push your luck, Ortecho. You've gotten enough information out of me for a long time to come.”

Rosa rolled her eyes and, knowing that even with this strange tentative closeness they now shared, there were subjects even a vulnerable sickly Isobel Evans wouldn't touch, she changed the subject. “You know, I know it's Alex.”

Isobel was startled at that declaration. “What?”

“Michael's ex. I know it's Alex Manes. He texted me and Maria all about the guy who kissed him at the UFO Museum that day, before it all happened, and I guessed who it was right away. I'd spotted the way they looked at each other sometimes already.” Rosa smiled to herself as she curled her arms around herself. “I think Alex gushing about your brother's stupid curly hair was the only good thing that happened that day. Plus, I've gotta say, I'm not surprised that Alex with piercings and eyeliner would lead a guy like Guerin to a bi awakening. I taught Alex how to apply it in the first place, so I'm definitely the one to thank for their ridiculous love story.”

“I'm pretty sure that makes you the one to  _ blame _ , considering how badly things have ended between them.”

“I wouldn't be so sure anything has ended. The way Alex looks when his name comes up in conversation? Even Maria seems to know they're not over, and she's barely had time to get over the guy after whatever happened between them.”

In what was becoming a pattern for them, they lapsed into silence for a few minutes before Rosa cleared her throat a little too loudly, “Speaking of bi awakenings-” The startled expression on Isobel's face was silently demanding Rosa not finish what she was now starting, but she blew past that and continued, “What happened between us back then. The... obsession. The intense way he looked at me, the entitlement. That was all him, right?”

Isobel paused, not looking at Rosa. “Yes.” She blew out her breath, rolling her eyes upward. “I think. It's all a bit... tangled.”

Rosa waited for Isobel to continue. When she didn't, she lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and glanced around the back garden for a few minutes, allowing Isobel to gather herself before speaking again.

“It's not you, if that's what you're worried about. Especially not now that I'm 28 and you're 19. I just- I'd never considered anyone but Noah. And now I guess I'm... considering everyone.” She had a thoughtful yet faraway look on her face as she said this, gazing into the middle distance. After a beat, she caught Rosa’s eye, breaking the spell. “Not that I'm ever dating again. _Obviously_.”

Isobel emphasized the last word, almost as a way of warding off further inquiry into the potential revelation about her sexuality buried in her speech. Rosa knew not to push her on that particular subject right now, and responded, “Oh, please. If a recovering addict zombie like me can date again eventually, then so can a bitchy traumatized alien like you.”

“Please don't tell me that's your Tinder profile.”

“What the hell is Tinder?”

Isobel side-eyed Rosa. “What are those siblings of yours even teaching you about the last decade? Clearly I have  _ so _ much work to do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa goes to Isobel to learn about Noah from the person who knew him best and eventually they find themselves striking up an unlikely friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some cathartic bonfires and complicated friendship!
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful cadenzamuse over on Tumblr.
> 
> Title from Santigold's The Riot's Gone  
Below lyrics from Florence + the Machine's Shake It Out

** _i’m ready to suffer and i’m ready to hope_ **

Over the next couple weeks, Rosa would periodically show up without warning and join Isobel’s latest project. They worked their way through the master bath, Noah’s office, the living room and kitchen, pulling down wall decorations, emptying cabinets and organizing pickups for all the furniture Isobel refused to keep, though she hadn’t yet bought any replacements. The house simply emptied out, until the only habitable rooms were the guest bedroom and, to some degree, the kitchen. Isobel agreed she could skip the kitchen because she’d decorated it herself anyway.

Rosa was the first person to witness her evolving powers when she pulled apart the lock Noah used to secure his filing cabinet. Rosa had been waiting for a demonstration of these alien powers she kept hearing about and it didn’t disappoint—though the focused fury on Isobel’s face as she furrowed her brow and stared until the lock cracked apart left her with a vaguely unsettled feeling.

The door to the master bedroom was always closed and Rosa never acknowledged the fact that, when Isobel’s manic energy would finally give out and she would fall asleep, she would do so in the guest bedroom. Sometimes she was asleep before Rosa quietly locked the front door behind her with a hidden spare key, returning to Max’s house in the old rusted pickup truck Michael had dropped off shortly after her return. He let Liz know it was just something he’d been tinkering with at the junkyard and Rosa could use it as long as she needed to. She supposed it was his version of an apology. When she first climbed in and tested it out along the empty roads near the house, she found herself considering the wild ways these alien siblings have been demonstrating remorse—a free vehicle and a literal resurrection. And now, with Isobel, a safe space for distraction, inane conversation and the unhurried processing of what a new life might look like. She knew Liz and Kyle were becoming antsy for her to make some official decisions, but she continually rebuffed them, still undecided. When she felt guilty for disappointing them, Isobel’s steely, unearthly focus on her renovations would lull Rosa’s mind into a soothing blankness she otherwise couldn’t find.

Despite this comforting rhythm she found during their time together, Rosa would have moments when she would glance over at Isobel’s profile and would find an unwelcome thought at the forefront of her mind:  _ this is the woman who covered up my murder for ten years. _ Isobel had probably touched her body in death. She had certainly watched as the car caught fire, the flames streaking burn marks along her body that Rosa was certain she still saw when she was frozen in front of Max's full bathroom mirror. She did that a lot now—just stared at her own naked body, getting lost in it. She supposed it was a mild form of dissociation, the way she lost time focusing intently at a spot on her skin or the shape of a finger, unable to recall if it remained the same as before or if her body was irrevocably changed in ways only she could identify. Liz had been giving her physical checkups to confirm her health status, and Kyle surprised them with copies of her medical history swiped from the hospital. Neither of them could find significant changes to her physical form or health. It was as though she returned exactly as she had been before.

Except she hadn’t. Rosa knew there was something different in her, unable as she was to identify it precisely. Despite Liz’s insistence that the evidence from her physicals refuted the notion, Rosa was certain something inside her had been lost, or perhaps even replaced. As far as anyone knew, the pod that housed her was never intended for human use. In addition, it was where her murderer had spent decades trapped, and Rosa couldn’t help but shiver when she recalled this point. Who knows what of Noah Bracken and his psychopathy remained behind in that pod - maybe she’d absorbed some kind of psychic energy from it, the kind that connected the aliens, and that was what kept her coming back to Isobel’s place. A connection that went beyond Noah. Something that would explain why Rosa found herself unable to hold onto her justifiable anger towards Isobel Evans.

Or maybe she was just doing something she hadn’t truly done in years - making a real friend.

On the day they’d completed enough to buy paint, Isobel tried to convince Rosa she could safely accompany her to the hardware store without being recognized by attempting a disguise. “Come on, Ortecho, you could use a style update anyway. Leave this grungy 90’s throwback you’re clinging to back in 2008 where it belongs.” From the open silver racks Isobel had set up in her guest bedroom, she pulled out a belted blush-coloured dress and with an enthusiastic flick of her wrist, grabbed a sheer scarf in a matching floral print and tried to hold them up against Rosa’s body as Rosa gave the woman a look of utter disbelief.

“Please tell me this is a joke.”

“We’ll tie the scarf around your hair and you’ll basically be a 50’s movie star. Rosa Ortecho would never dare! No one would suspect a thing!” Isobel had them turned facing a mirror and gave Rosa a bright smile over her shoulder.

“Yeah, exactly. I wouldn’t dare.” In the end, Rosa waited in the car in her standard leather jacket, but after endless needling on Isobel’s part about adopting a new look, she agreed to allow a haircut, and Isobel gave her a chin-length asymmetrical bob once they finished their work for the day. She was skeptical, but ended up loving it. 

In between Isobel’s constant suggestions on how Rosa could remake her identity, they successfully painted the main rooms of the house. The living room went from its warm yellow to a vibrant turquoise with gold accents, the upstairs bathroom became coral, the master bedroom went from cream to amber, and the guest bedroom, the last to be completed, became a silvery blue. Rosa had offered alternatives, but Isobel stubbornly stood her ground on this particular colour scheme. 

The day after the painting was completed and new furniture had been ordered for delivery within the next few days, Rosa came by to find Isobel sitting silently on the bedroom floor against her closet door, breathing heavily and sweating, her fists braced on the floor. Her hand was finally free of its bandage, and she was staring at the king-size bed frame that remained in the centre of the room. The plastic sheeting used during painting had been removed, and the stuffing in the wrecked quilted headboard was lying in tufts all around the frame and surrounding floor. Isobel hadn’t acknowledged her presence yet, and Rosa noticed an empty nail polish remover bottle lying beside her. She took a closer look at the wooden frame, and noticed it looked as though someone had viciously attacked it with a knife, blindly swiping and taking chunks with them. It dawned on her what happened and she turned to her friend. “You tried to blow it up with your powers, didn’t you?”

“I failed.” Isobel said it dully, her blank stare unwavering. "I'm not strong enough yet." 

Rosa took a seat beside her on the floor. “That’s okay. Maybe you don’t have to do this part all by yourself.” Isobel seemed to come half-awake at the suggestion and glanced warily over at Rosa as she continued. “Look. All the bags of his stuff are still sitting in your living room. This bed is basically kindling. Why don’t we do what you said you wanted to the first day I came here and burn it all? We can put your firepit back there to good use.”

Isobel leaned her head back against the closet and slowly turned her head until she was looking Rosa full in the face. Rosa couldn’t read her expression until her face slowly widened into a devious and satisfied smile.

Later that night, they were in the backyard, a low fire already started. Though Isobel was unable to shatter the bed with her brain, with Rosa's encouragement, she'd managed to pull it apart into pieces they easily hauled down to the backyard.

They stood side by side, the remnants of their Crashdown dinner scattered on the side tables and the last earthly reminders of Noah Bracken's existence on this planet at their feet waiting to be burned on the pyre.

Rosa picked up a splintered piece of wood and shoved one end into the fire, pulling her arm back a little to admire the flame as it caught and sparked higher, slowly burning red and orange and blue. Isobel was silently watching Rosa’s profile, the way the flames caught the red lipstick and danced along her face. 

Isobel turned away to fix a stare at a garbage bag laying a few feet away, focusing until it began rustling softly, the knot coming undone. With her mind, she slowly began pulling an assortment of clothing from the bag and tossing it onto the fire indiscriminately. Rosa soon joined in, and the flames grew taller, throwing off sparks they both ignored. They took turns, adding the remaining wood pieces in between the hissing of the burning cloth. 

Eventually, they were left standing silently, side by side, watching the flames burn away the last of it. Rosa stole a glance over at Isobel and saw tears streaming down her face. She was still, her arms stiff at her sides, yet crying openly and silently. The tears made the flames reflected in her eyes burn that much brighter, and Rosa felt her own eyes stinging. 

Without taking her eyes off the fire, Isobel reached out and grabbed for Rosa’s hand like a lifeline and squeezed. Long moments passed, the crackling of the fire drowning out the sounds of life outside the backyard, and eventually Rosa squeezed her hand in return. 

They continued watching the fire until it burned itself out. 

***

“I need a new name.”

Isobel glanced up from her kitchen island where she was chopping up fruit. They'd been sitting in companionable silence since Rosa strode in without ringing the bell, taking a seat in the kitchen and began popping strawberries into her mouth, drawing half-hearted scowls out of Isobel.

“Right. I guess if you’re getting out of Max's soon, we need to have your new life set up first. Do you have any ideas?”

“Everyone has narrowed it down to three options, and they all suck.”

“Well, you didn't get to choose it the first time around, so at least you get some input now. Tell me.”

Rosa rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “Alma, Sofia and Ana."

Isobel glanced up with a raised eyebrow, silent as she grabbed spinach from the fridge. “Sofia is nice.”

“Sure, but is it me?”

“None of them are going to feel like you when you've been Rosa for 19 years. You just need to make a choice and stick to it.”

“I guess.” Rosa was inspecting her chipped dark purple nail polish, a manicure Isobel had insisted on after finishing their last room, which Rosa had relented to even as she set a record for eye rolls and sarcastic quips during the process. “I was thinking Liliana. Liliana Helena. My mother used to tell me about this great-aunt with the same name back in Mexico. She was an artist. A great artist, but she never got married or settled down so most of our family didn’t approve of her. But my mom loved her. She always said I look just like her, that I had her spirit.”

Isobel gave her a small smile while mixing up her salad. “That sounds perfect.”

Rosa mirrored her smile back at her. “Now Alex just needs to get me my documents and I have to somehow find a place to live where I’m not technically squatting. Especially now that everybody is onboard with attempting another resurrection.”

Isobel pursed her lips in response to that. It was true that Liz had come up with a plausible way to bring Max back, with her and Michael’s help. At Rosa and Liz’s encouragement, Isobel had reached out to Michael the week before and they were working on developing their powers more together. Isobel had insisted on slowly decreasing Michael’s acetone intake in case it inhibited his strength. Naturally, he reacted by being constantly jittery, sarcastic, and angry, but Isobel reasoned that reconnecting with her brother after these rough few weeks was worth tolerating his prickliness.

“I've decided I like the guest room.”

Rosa offered a puzzled raise of her eyebrows in response. 

“I mean, I'm gonna stay there. It suits me. But the master is just sitting there empty. It should be put to good use.” Isobel didn't meet Rosa's eye while she spoke. 

Rosa smirked at Isobel's evasive maneuvers as Isobel ducked her head and busied herself with mixing salad dressing. “Are you asking to be roomies, Evans?”

“Absolutely not.” She looked Rosa straight in the eye now and spoke crisply, a ghost of an amused smile on her face. “It would be a strict landlady-tenant relationship.” They both found themselves chuckling at that statement, while Isobel presented two forks and handed one over to Rosa. 

They proceeded to dig into the bowl and after a few minutes of quietly regarding Isobel, Rosa smiled and responded, “I'd like that.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go! The end of the first RNM fic I ever finished. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I'm acomebackstory on Tumblr. Feel free to come say hello!


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